You Have Terminal Cancer?​But you don't Look Sick?​​

I finally got around to reading some of your messages, I've still got many more to respond to, thank-you all for your ongoing love and support for a stranger from a little suburb on the outskirts of Brisbane. One common message I receive lately, is that my blogs have become more depressing or sad of late and I suppose you're right, but that's the truth of this disease. You've entered into the world of a 'terminally ill' person, not a stage one, 99% cure rate cancer blog, it's an incurable cancer blog. Terminal, essentially meaning I am dying, may not be today, tomorrow or the day after that, but one day it will take me (unless that miracle happens), believe me it's still as hard for me to say it, as it may be for you to read it. It really is a rollercoaster, the downs just take a little bit longer to ride out and as much as I wish I could be positive Pollyanna all the time, it's impossible to be that.

I promise you a truthful and honest insight into my life and I suppose sometimes I've not been as honest with you as I should have been, especially earlier in my blog. I was new to it and I didn't want to be all death, death, death. There are times that I've blogged and it's all jokes and funny analogies, but they've been more for your benefit than mine. As my blog grew I received more and more messages from cancer patients and carers etc. and they were grateful for the truthful parts, the parts that so many of us think about, the dirty laundry truth, but don't want people to know, we feel so guilty for many of our thoughts, like wishing it wasn't us with terminal cancer and that it was someone else or questioning our faith, if we say those thoughts out loud people may turn against us or be insulted, but that's what I'm here for, to be your voice of reason and truth, no matter how hard it may be to swallow.

I have numerous reasons for writing my blog, one is to connect with others and connect others in our position so we don't feel so alone, another is that it's alright to be scared about cancer and dying, you don't have to get to a point that you feel at ease with this disease, not everybody dies accepting of their fate and another was I was sick of the lack of honesty out there about terminal disease, "I do Pilates every day and only eat raw and my cancer is dying", "this disease makes you enjoy life more" blah blah blah, yes you may change your diet and ring your Mum more, but I don't want to feel guilty because I have terminal cancer and still drink the occasional Coke or eat way more cheese than that food pyramid thing says I should and as for exercising and meditation, yes that's good for you, but I can barely reach my ass nowadays to wipe it, never mind attempting a closed leg rocker or bicycle position. Yay for you and I'm all for it if you can do it. I just got sick of reading a blog and by the end of it feeling like I was the son of Lucifer himself for drinking wine. I already have fucking terminal cancer, so don't make me feel bad for going for that fourth slice of pizza or eating burnt toast.

I don't want people to read my blog and feel like they're doing terminal cancer wrong, there is no one way to live when dying, if there was there'd already be a "dying for dummies" book out there, there is no right way or wrong way to do this. Each person that goes through this is a newbie, you can only die once, so no one person is an expert. My advice, put down the how to die gracefully books and do this terminal disease however the fuck YOU want, if you want to throw a tantrum and smash a few plates, if you want to swim the English Channel, climb Mt Everest or simply spend your time at home, watching every reality show ever made, that's your choice. I never want a person to read one of my blogs and feel like they're doing something wrong. I am no Dalai Lama, certainly not a life coach or psychiatrist and most importantly I am not God or whoever your higher power is, if you even have one.

I've said it before, that as cancer patients we all too often pretend to be ok for the sake of others, we want to protect you from the truth, because the truth is just way to ugly and scary. A few people have said that they want the upbeat, hopeful Lisa back and again I get it and it doesn't upset me that they feel this way, it's because they want to protect their own feelings, if I give up, then what do those people, those strangers that care for me or garner hope from me do? How can they be strong, if I am weak? I have not given up, I have not resigned to the fact that my cancer has taken me, I'm not about to make that phone call to my cancer and congratulate it on its resounding victory, the truth of the matter is, this disease will kill me. I've never changed my thought process in relation to my feelings about my terminal diagnosis. I still hope for the best and prepare for the worst, that little saying was used very heavily in the early stages of my cancer and was definitely my brother Stevens go to, he'd come into the hospital and say it and he'd leave the hospital saying it.

I love that you beautiful people are concerned for me and worries that I may be giving up, but believe me, if or when I give up, you won't be confused about it, you'll know, because I'll tell you. I understand your fear, this is probably pretty new to you. You come across this random blog one day in your newsfeed and you've got a few minutes to spare, so you start to read and like I have done with other bloggers, you fall into their story, you feel a connection, just like I feel a connection with the Million dollar listing Los Angeles cast, you feel like you're friends and you talk about them like you are. We all do it, I couldn't tell you the amount of times I start a sentence with "I know it's not real, it's just a soap opera, but......" I talk about the Coronation street cast like they're actually related to me......a bit of advice David, it's going to come out, it always does, so maybe you should move to Emmerdale, I think the fresh country air would do you and the kids good. My family and I have been dealing with this for years now, so perhaps I can be a little blasé about my health, talking about it like I've got a cold. Many of you fabulous rockstars write to me or comment on my blog that you feel we would be best friends if we lived in the same city, state or country. Our connection feels so deep that when I have my down moments and openly blog about them, you feel like you're on the other end of a phone call from your sister or best friend and it upsets you to hear that I'm in pain or that I'm scared of dying, we've only just begun our virtual best friendship, you're not ready for it to end.

I wish we had met under different circumstances, perhaps a fashion or gossip blog, but unfortunately that's not where my life path took me, I think the bastard got distracted somewhere along route healthy and route dying and sadly that's my lot in life. I still hope to prove those doctors wrong, but I can't go along pretending like nothing's happening, for starters the pain wouldn't let me! As hard as this may be for you, just imagine how hard it is for the thousands of cancer patients going through this disease, their family and friends, if you can feel this emotionally connected to essentially a complete stranger, imagine how their hearts are breaking.

One things for sure, whenever I do finally kick the bucket, I'll have way more friends, both virtual and real going out than I did coming in 😉. I receive daily prayers and support from thousands of you fabulous rockstars and that gives me comfort that I never thought I would have. I am so thankful for all of you and your genuine concern, you take the time out of your day to read my biblical sized blogs and then you make loving comments, my family, friends and I are so thankful that you feel I'm worth that time and energy.

Stay fabulous you amazing rockstars ❤️🤘🏼

A couple of photos my cousin Tracy sent me the other day, they're blurred, but can you pick me?

So here I am nearly a week later and the most recent news we've received about my cancer is still just as hard to swallow as a wheatgrass shot laced with pigeon poop, it never gets easier, if anything it gets harder. Oh and did I mention it's 4.30am, no, not an early start, I haven't even slept, what with my increased steroid dosage and the pain from something like 30 tumours in my abdomen and pelvis, sleeping evades me lately.

I'm still walking around dazed and confused with a constant look plastered on my face that could best be described as something resembling Alicia Silverstones expression on the Clueless DVD cover, except of course, much less blonde, slim and Hollywood C lister, for those of you beautiful rockstars that are reading this now and thinking "who the fuck is Alicia Silverstone"? What the fuck is Clueless and what is this DVD thing you're talking about? I feel sorry for you and I highly recommend getting more of your Gen Y girlfriends over to watch a download, come on wot r u w8in 4? Snapchat or FaceTime or text your girls to get their squatting butts over to your place right now and you can thank me later.

The last blog I did, I discussed my fear of death and the unknown afterlife or existence of heaven, even though I consider myself to have strong faith and people are amazingly supportive and loving, one thing I probably doubt or admire is their unwavering belief that there is something after all of this, it's even better than being here on earth and they're not scared of their mortality. I don't know if you can truly know what your feelings about death are until you're faced with it. Before this bastard of a disease, I had no doubt that there was a heaven, but now that I'm faced with my own death, that part of the dying process isn't so certain. Sit in a room with your Doctor, hear the words, you have cancer and you only have weeks, maybe months to live and let's see how at peace you are with it then? I yearn for that peace of mind I used to have, I'm not saying I've lost faith, I'm simply saying my religious GPS hasn't had its recent update and hopefully once it has I will be back on track and be comforted by the thought that one day, I will be reunited with my loved ones.

In a time that we have a President Trump elect and a bunch of women with big asses, sex tapes and a husband who thinks he's Jesus or a clothes designer or a singer or the future President or whatever it is he wants to be this week dictating what lipstick we wear and how to wear it, here I am trying to figure out how I'm going to keep going, keep breathing, keep moving forward. How am I going to push through this time? Everyone keeps saying, you've done it before, you'll do it again, but I've never had this much disease before and with each radiation, the less effective it seems to be, eventually it won't work at all. People are so positive that I'll make it, but they're not the ones inside my diseased body, my body has been battling against itself for so long, eventually one of us is going to have to give in and looking at my recent scans, it seems it's me that's reaching for the white flag.

My days have consisted of constant pain, pain "relief" (in inverted comma's because there is no relief, with every injection my pain remains the same, but the tiredness and confusion momentarily distracts my body from it), lethargy, laxatives, sleeping, watching enough reality TV and HBO series that I could pick any True Blood cast members ass from a line up and probably the worst thing I've done over the last week is ignore phone calls and text messages.

I've withdrawn from my friends, which I know is wrong, they only want to support me, but the sheer energy it takes to make my thoughts connect with my mouth is too much. I love them and they love me, my longest term best friend, my number one in my squad, (hey if Taylor Swift can have one, why can't I?) is Rebecca (known as "Bec" or in the crossfit circle as "Coops"). Rebecca has been by my side through it all, from the time my Mum found a squashed cigarette in my Maths folder (I swear Mum, I was minding it for Bec) to the time I lost my first love to his cousin's best friend (can anyone say Nepotism?), to the time I rang her hiding in a person's front yard after running from my ex boyfriend during a particularly heated argument we were having in the car, to probably the second hardest phone call I've ever had to make, telling her that I had cancer and then the hardest, calling her to tell her my cancer had come back and I was terminal. Rebecca has been there, from pimples to palliative care, she's been my rock and here I am building an emotional wall protecting me from her and my friends. I mean, who does that? Who treats their friends like enemies? Me, I do.

As a young terminal cancer patient I have so many thoughts about it all and I often feel guilty for thinking them, like the "heaven" question. When I'm dealing with the post traumatic stress of the most recent scan, I often have a truly terrible thought, and before I divulge it let me make a disclaimer on behalf of myself and Emma, we DO NOT hate or resent elderly women, it's just that sometimes when life gives you one dried up lemon, it's difficult to hear a person whose had an abundance of fruit baskets throughout their life complain about it, we simply wish we were that woman, if anything I suppose you could say we envy them. As I sit in my GP's waiting room with my pain driver pumping my life's juice into me, with the word "palliative" blazoned on the front of it and the 90 something year old woman sits opposite me complaining about her cataract, I can't help but think, be grateful you made it. You were one of the lucky ones and I know it's wrong, but this shituation takes your mind to dark places, thankfully I read my friends blog "Dear Melanoma" and she mentioned that she too has the same thoughts and it's one of the reasons she doesn't like to share a room in hospital with elderly women, because it's a physical reminder that she's' not going to get to make memories over the next 60 years. Emma, in her mid 20's, is in hospital as a lab rat trialling yet another drug, trying in vain to find something that will either cure her or give her more time, meanwhile Betty in bed 320, is buzzing the nurse for the fifth time to complain about the air conditioning (Betty is a fabrication, purely for editorial purposes, sadly Emma is not).

Believe me in a few days when the inoperable tumour dust has settled, I'll regret thinking these thoughts and I'll definitely regret publicly posting them, but as I always say, I've promised you warts and all and to start holding back from you now would be wrong.

It's simple, I'm in love with life and to die, is to take away my greatest love.

I hope in coming days that I will be in a better place, I've made contact with my councillor, so hopefully that will help and I got out of bed today and had a shower, so that's good and I didn't go back to bed, I actually made it into the lounge room to watch TV. So whilst myself, my friends and family face the latest plot in our own personal soap opera, I thank-you for your love and support, with one radiation down and two more to go, we can only hope and pray that it works, because quite frankly if it doesn't, I'm fucked. Stay fabulous rockstars ❤️🤘🏼

Here we are once again, back in "that" place I just don't want to be. Mum asked me a very telling question today, "So, are you still wanting your funeral down in Sydney?", speaks volumes doesn't it. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that question either, it's completely reasonable in our current situation and she knows that I've always wanted my funeral to be "my" way, not some funeral director in a wide brimmed hat and a chignon bun from White Lady funerals way. Today though, practicality wasn't high on my priority list, number one was to walk around dazed and confused, wondering why we're back in this place again, the place of death.

I mean wasn't a cure supposed to have been found by now? I've stretched it out to 3 years, I've given you frigging cancer scientists enough time and frigging donations, so why are we still here? I've been frozen in this unknown state for what feels like forever, haven't some bloody mice in China had their cancer cured from some sort of trial somewhere in the bowels of Beijing? You can have a face transplant now and I read somewhere that some Russian guy has just volunteered to be the first human to trial a whole head transplant and still we can't manage to kill little lumps that keep popping up inside my body, how does this make sense?

In recent days I've had an episode where I was curled up in pain, with my undies around my ankles, on the toilet floor, banging the wall for my Mum or Dad to get me an enema to help with a blockage from my kilogram of pelvic tumours pressing on my rectum and causing a slight blockage, I knew it was coming, I knew it was getting worse again, but it still doesn't prepare you.

It doesn't matter how long you have "terminal" attached to you, it never becomes easier, you never just get used to it. I know so many of you write how strong I am, an inspiration, but really I'm not, I'm as shit scared as I was that Thursday September the 5th 2013 in that little ultrasound room when the technician gave me the "poor you" your cancers back puppy dog eyes.

I said to Mum today and I almost felt wrong saying it, but it's the truth, so here goes, I actually wish someone was dying with me, I know how horrible that sounds, but for fuck sake women can't manage to go to the toilet by themselves on a night out, so why would it be so wrong of me to not want to go out (die) alone? I know it's horrible to wish death on someone else, but it's not like I'm saying to Mum take an overdose of my morphine and come along for the ride. I'm simply saying it would be a comforting thought to know you weren't going to be facing this alone. I know everyone who has strong faith says that the other side is better than this side, but what if it's nothing? What if I die and that's it, the thought of not going on somewhere else after this I think is what scares me the most and yes I know I believe in God and I say I have strong faith, but I'm sorry; until someone goes over to the other side with a go pro attached to their head and comes back with concrete proof of this so-called "other side" or "heaven" I simply can't commit to heaven's existence. The thought of not being reconnected with your loved ones once you die scares the shit out of me. I so desperately want to be so blind in my faith that I believe that we will be reunited in years to come, because it would give me the comfort I so desperately crave, but my fears just override all of it.

I sometimes wonder would it be easier if I was in my 80's and my loved ones had already passed away? Maybe then the thought of a Great Gatsby themed welcoming party upon my arrival at my new home in the sky would be more likely? Maybe I'd be looking forward to it, because the ones I love have already gone.

All of these thoughts and considerations swimming around my head, all day, all night.

I'm roaming around at 2am in between crying and begging and praying for this to be one big joke, for it to all go away. Scared to go to sleep in case I'm not going to wake up and the words kilo of tumours keep whirling around in my head like an annoying fucking mosquito in your bedroom at night.....please, I'm begging you, just leave me alone. You've had your fun, now pack your bags and move on! Looking down at my bloated tumour filled belly and asking why? Why did this happen? Imagining tomorrow without me in it, how can everyone else still be here at some point and I won't? It doesn't make sense, it's just one big mind fuck on Viagra. It doesn't matter how long you fight this bastard of a disease, you still go to bed thinking you'll wake up tomorrow and everything will have miraculously disappeared, hope is so pivotal, it keeps you going, but I don't seem to face my reality.

Lisa! You're dying! Accept it and move on already! I just can't!

I wish I could promise you fabulous rockstars that tomorrow will be a better day, that I will be more positive, but I'm not in the habit of making promises I can't keep. I can only hope that tomorrow will come and if it does that I am more positive about my situation. Thank-you all for your love, support, positive vibes and prayers. I hope that you can appreciate that I don't know how I will behave in coming days, I may go AWOL for a while or it could be all things as normal, I just don't know.

I've spoken before about a moment I had standing at the kitchen bench looking over our loungeroom and watching my Mum, Dad, brother Steven, Marianne my sister-in-law and Ava my then 2 year old niece. They were just going about a normal night, sitting and chatting, laughing at Ava, whilst the TV was on in the background going unnoticed and in that moment I realised one day, that will be their new normal, going about life without me in it, they won't be thinking of me or calling out to me to put the kettle on while I'm in the kitchen, I will be the metaphorical TV, there, but not really.

There will be times like Birthday's and Christmas' when I will be remembered, when they'll talk about how I was the hardest person to buy for when it came to presents and as much as they think it's because I just can't be pleased, I think it's more to do with the fact that I've never learned to accept gifts graciously. I'm not a good receiver, because I never feel deserved of the gift, a great giver, yes, there's just always been something that doesn't sit right with me when receiving a gift, like I'm unworthy of it or their money could be spent on something more important. I've had to learn over recent months especially to receive gifts better, I mean, I've been gifted some beautiful gifts from some fabulous rockstars, I was gifted my dream trip to Broome by Dreams2live4 and given the trip to the Melbourne Cup by Emirates, so I've had to receive some pretty bloody big gifts of late. I've learnt, that to be able to give, you must be able to receive, because that wonderful warm feeling that comes over me when I see the happiness on a person's face upon receiving my gift, should be experienced by everyone at some point in their life and if I don't allow people to give, I am depriving them of the best gift of all, that warm fuzzy feeling and moment of pure gratefulness and joy when a person sees a gift for the first time. Gifts don't have to be physical, expensive or huge, just smiling at the lonely man on a park bench is a gift, for that may be the only human interaction that person has all day, all week. I suppose "giving" would be my favourite pass time and by writing this blog I'm giving myself to you, I feel this is the greatest gift I've ever given.

This will be my legacy, this will be something that when I'm long gone and nobody remembers the girl who guilted her way into the Melbourne Cup and terminally fabulous is just a couple of words that no longer resonates with people, it will still be there for my family, my friends, my loved ones and maybe the odd google search recipient, to look back on when they need a virtual hug. This has been my greatest gift so far, I don't think there's much more a person could give of themselves than their complete truth, to bare ones soul publicly has been a gift for me also. I have gained so much joy from fabulous rockstars that write and tell me stories of how my blog has helped them or their loved one get through the day. There is no possible way to describe the feeling you get when you open an email from a complete stranger and they bare their soul to you in return. How amazing is that? People actually feel safe enough disclosing their deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings to me? Yes, with this gift comes sadness, stories of death and devastation, but that warm fuzzy feeling I get from the good email helps to take the sting away from the sadness.

There will be times when my friends will laugh at the stupid things I've said or done over the years and when the tears from laughter dry on their cheeks, I will be returned to that little drawer in the back of their mind, waiting to be stumbled across again accidentally when looking for something else.

I do not want to be a memory, I don't want to be talked about and I certainly don't want to be forgotten. I want to be given a gift that to most sane people is seemingly unachievable, I want the gift of life, the gift of a cure, a miracle, because I'm not ready to be a fading memory.

Stay fabulous rockstars and give somebody the gift of an unexpected smile tomorrow, you never know how big an impact that one small gesture could have on someone's life ❤️🤘🏼

I wrote this blog last week, just a couple of days before I flew down to Melbourne for the trip of a lifetime, but I didn't really want to post it in case people got concerned about me pushing myself to go to the cup, believe me, my health comes before any amount of celebrities caged in one area and I would never put myself at risk just to grasp a glimpse of the girls from the block.....go Sasha and Julia!!!!!!

So there I was last Sunday in excruciating pain, once again doing the should I or shouldn't I go to the hospital argument in my head. I'm in my bedroom in insurmountable pain, the type of pain that every time I attempt to inhale, it feels like my liver is being stabbed by a blunt rusted knife and my lungs are being suffocated by the sheer size of my tumours. The problem is, I've been in this pain before and it has subsided after an hour and I've been in this pain before and within hours I've been told I'm not going to make it through the night due to the amount of blood loss I've had from a tumour bleed, so which one is it? Is it the "l'm going to die pain" or the "it's going to subside pain?". I don't have X-Ray glasses that can see into my abdomen and tell me if it's a tumour bleed, a tumour has popped, tumour necrosis, it's just that my bowels have moved forcing a tumour to hit a nerve causing pain, tumour growth, constipation, ascites and the list goes on, so it's no wonder I have this back and forth with myself every time I feel pain and then my poor parents get it as well. I'm usually asking them, what do you think, yes or no? To which they reply you can only tell us that, we can't feel the pain and then I get annoyed at them because they won't make the decision for me, then when they say, "we think you should be in hospital", I usually object anyway, the poor bastards can't win.

So on Monday night I was doing my usual back and forth, I took a few breakthrough pain injections and they did nothing, that was it, my little argument in my head wasn't an option, the pain had me in a choke hold and I couldn't tap out. Time to go to emergency, no time to ring the ambulance, just get me there. In my mind this time I was dying, every bump, every turn, I was yelping like a neglected dog in pain. Anyone who knows me, knows that if hospital can be avoided, I will avoid it, avoid it at nearly all cost. So this car trip is a good 30 minute ride and I felt every second, pain was seeping from every pore, if I cry it's more painful and all I wanted to do was ball, so every now and then crying would start and this pain would rush over me, causing distress in my breathing, in turn causing even more pain. My poor Dad watching on helpless trying to drive the car at the same time as holding my hand like I was giving birth in the seat next to him, I have a feeling a few red lights were ignored that night and the speedo may have been in overdrive.

We finally arrived at the hospital which I amnot going to name as my experience with emergency departments in Australia are normally 10/10. The triage nurse or admin person at the counter usually sees the pain written all over my face and contorted body upon arrival and rushes out with a wheelchair or directs us through the hallowed doors that lead to triage, nope not this hospital. They watch as you are dragged to the counter in pain and proceed with the usual questioning as if you're just at the post office posting a package, not at the Emergency department begging for relief. At one point I was yelping and the admin woman simply said there's a seat over there, pointing in the direction of the waiting room. I couldn't speak with pain so I tried to motion that it was more painful to sit and then try to get back up than to remain standing.

On this occasion the triage experience was quicker than previous occasions, but I feel there is a sensitivity chip lacking in the front desk at this hospital. I don't know if it's how they've been trained, so that they don't become emotional or affected by what may appear before them, but one things for sure I've been to ED's all over Australia and each time I give this one the benefit of the doubt, I am left feeling neglected, disappointed and a nuisance. No person that approaches an emergency department with a genuine illness or medical issue should be made to feel that they are an annoyance, do you really think doubled over in pain in your waiting room is where I imagined my Sunday going? Do you think I'm here just for fun, for a laugh?

You see I already suffer from ED inferiority complex (EDIC), I don't think it's an actual recognised complex, but it's what I call it anyway. I never feel that my pain or illness is worthy of taking up an ED bed, so when I'm faced with an uncaring person at the counter, who tutts when she sees me walking in because she's standing there with her heated bolognese from last nights dinner and would rather be splattering sauce down her chin than take the time to assess my case appropriately, it pisses me off. I've had an occasion where we've been ambulanced in and people have been nothing but downright rude to us, my brother and his wife rushed to the hospital to see what was going on and the admin lady came out to us in the hall yelling whose family dare take up waiting room space and get out there and move them! Totally understandable, but just ask them to go to the café politely, you don't need to publicly shame them for caring for their sister, they also kept forcing me to sit in a chair and I kept telling them I couldn't sit, I went to the toilet, came back out and they had given the bed away and left a chair for me to sit on, even though they knew I was physically unable to sit. On this occasion my Mum actually ended up in tears and she's a stoic woman, it takes a lot to make her cry, but she just felt that the hospital did nothing but make us feel like a nuisance from the time we arrived and by the way, it wasn't us who sent us to ED,: it was my GP who told us to rush to the hospital, even after I begged her to not make me go and I would be fine.

My ED inferiority complex is really bad, I always believe that someone else is worse off than me, from the 21 year old with alcohol poisoning to the ice addict scratching their flesh to the bone, the little girl with a fish-hook stuck in her finger to the bloke who was building an IKEA flat pack and obviously didn't follow instructions properly because he now has a piece of MDF attached to his forearm and don't even get me started on the woman who came in with lock-jaw, let's just say her partner was slightly embarrassed explaining that one to the triage nurse. I've seen it all and I always feel they should be seen before me, so to have ignorant and uncaring Triage nurses, basically choosing my fate just adds to my already uncontrollable "EDIC". A wonderful emergency department nurse once told me after I had told her about my EDIC, that I in fact was probably more important than most in the waiting room, because unlike the fool who thought it was a smart idea to try riding a unicycle on the balcony of a 5 storey building, you didn't choose to get cancer and you certainly didn't choose to be terminal and have tumour bleeds that require blood transfusions, embolisations and radiation to stop them, this is out of your hands, so we should be saving you, keeping you around as long as we can. Whereas I think, because I'm already "dying", why would you want to waste valuable time and resources on keeping me going? Only to remain an ongoing strain on the already struggling health system, it simply doesn't make sense, to which she replied, do you think the man that we've just treated for falling down the stairs and spraining his ankle isn't a strain on our health system? He's an alcoholic, his disease is and will continue to be a strain on our health system, until he either gets irreparable liver damage and dies or decides to get help, either way his alcoholism will continue to be a strain on public health resources, just like yours does, so why should your life be any less important than the next? We are all human and we all deserve equal and fair access to the public health system. That nurse was so right and one day, maybe, I'll realise that saving my life is just as important as saving yours.

Remember A&E is for emergencies, not ingrown toenails or runny noses, but if you have a serious health issue, don't suffer from EDIC, get your sick butt to your local hospital and hopefully you'll be greeted by a fabulous triage like I have been so many times before. One rotten egg, shouldn't spoil the rest of them, 99.9% of Triage's are fabulous! A shout out to all you fab Triage and ED admin out there!

Author

My name is Lisa Magill and I have been navigating the minefield that is cancer since just months after turning 30, people have been saying to me for years that I should put my thoughts into writing and as time has progressed I thought I had left it too late, well here we are nearly 4 years in and for some unknown reason I've decided to start to write today.

What do I want you to gain from reading my blog? Well I'm not going to say enlightenment and I 'm not going to get you to radically change your diet and start chanting at a full moon, to be quite honest this blog is more about me writing it, than you reading it and if someone happens to google cancer and inadvertently clicks on my link, well that's just a pleasant bonus.

I plan on talking and posting about the good, the bad and the ugly side of all things cancer, fashion, food, family, what you blogosphere type would probably call a "lifestyle" blog.